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all these words will pass away
like the petals of a flower,
or the leaves when autumn comes.
all will be forgotten,
a haunted memory,
of the thoughts and lives
etched across our pages.
but Your words,
echo through existence,
sustaining the universe
in power, might and breath.
yes, all will pass away,
but the words of God are eternal.
To be forsaken and alone,
Jesus knows that quite well.
To face the anguish in quiet agony with no one to share the pain or the burden with.
To be utterly torn to pieces deep within.
With no hand to hold His, nor arms to comfort.
No cheerful word offered by a brother -
Only the sounds of weeping echoing in that garden.
But His pain wasn't aimless and neither ours, for now our Savior is the One to hold our hand and comfort us in the warmth of His arms.
He was forsaken, so that we'd never be.
He gave up His comfort, so that we could find hope in His suffering.
He overcame, and even when it felt like it, He was never really alone.
And because of Him,
Neither are we.
Blessed be the name of Jesus. Forever and ever. Amen
Let's ask ourselves the question, that if we're really happy, then why does it feel like somethings missing?
We desire something more, and reach the goal - maybe for a while, it'll make us whole.
But then the sting comes back and the emptiness rears its ugly head, yet again.
We're alone.
Broken.
Empty.
Telling ourselves, that if we just get to the next point, we'll be happy again, and the cycle continues.
We are like a puzzle, almost complete, but missing the most important piece,
trying to find something else to fill that gap.
But nothing fits,
And nothing completes it.
So what's missing?
‭To tell you the truth, you were made for something more.
But you can't find something more without Someone to point the way.
Jesus is the way, the truth and the life.
"and there is still hope for redemption in a sinner like me."
I must have my Love.
That my heart may be softened through the tenderness of Your love.
That my life may have value again,
when You look upon me with Your patient affections.
How often I fail you,
greatly I do.
More than I love You,
do I so frequently follow the worthless lusts of this world.
Pluck out my eyes,
And cut off my hand,
That my devotion may belong to You,
and only You.
Oh, how my soul groans within me,
to be well with You again.
For our hearts to become one,
And my life again Yours.
If there's One who knows the depth of the misery,
of watching your beloved child anguish in death and suffering,
It's the One who gave His Son for our freedom.

The pain of the little hands,
clutching onto your own in fear, confusion, anger, peace and finally rest.

The turmoil of the raging seas,
the unrelenting storm inside,
no time to breathe, no time to think.
Riddled with the torment that the one who was of you, is no longer.

Wrestling with the battle inside,
the war to believe,
the ability to have comfort in utter weakness -
unable to escape the need for your arms to be full again.
And your soul to have rest.

And love, you freely surrender
knowing the great Comforter, will bring you home, there where your heart lies,
in the arms of the Father.
Cherished and never alone.

Free from the grief of the world,
free to be loved and live in eternal peace.

And so, even in the thickest of darkness, light shines the brightest,
And we breathe in the hope that lifts our soul, back to You.
For you, O church, we groan and yearn, that your joy may be complete in the sufferings and the hope.
To do and die for Christ, as the world turns its back on you, like it did to Him.
You bear your cross in weakness, and yet how strong you are, for the LORD thy God is with you as your blood is shed.
Your faith is bold and ever bright, even in the darkest of night.
Let it not dim, though you weary, you will not break, for those scars on your back, are the ones your Saviour bore.
Come and rejoice with those tears of gold, they are more precious to God, than we can ever know.
They burn your buildings, your children and wives, but bodies come and go, when your soul has eternal life.
Your belief is mocked, you are called a fool,
but better to be foolish than wise and not have life.
Yes, O church, how excruciating your pain, but we share in sufferings and we share in glory.
And when the stones hit your body,
And your hearts are pierced, the eyes of Jesus burn with love and fury.
So take comfort, that to be hated by the world and loved by God is an infinite beauty that endures forevermore.
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